


Rain

by Usagii



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Amnesia, Broken Soldier, Enemies, Enemies to Friends, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Mercenaries, Original Character(s), POV Second Person, Power crazy, Protective, Slow To Update, Urban Fantasy, Worthless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 07:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usagii/pseuds/Usagii
Summary: The beginning of a hopefully long story!"Closing your eyes and wincing, all you can do is hope that this familiar stranger is to be trusted."





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a personal project I started to encourage myself to write more, so don't be too mean okay lol  
> PLEASE feel free to tell me any mistakes I have or things I can improve on. Ya boi is still learning and just enjoying themselves at the moment

PT 1:

Rain thunders down from the sky, clouds weeping and staining the earth deeper, darker, and richer colors. Where are you? This place is not familiar. It is dusty and messy. Plants line the dirt-stained window, a bag is thrown to the side, and from the curtain rods, herbs are hanging to dry. A sticker-covered laptop is open on a bone covered altar and lets winding notes of music flood into the cool air. You keep on seeing figures, or is it the shadows playing with your mind? A knock echoes off the door removing the last bits of grogginess that desperately cling to you.  
“Hey. You locked me out again.”  
Why do they sound like you know each other? Where are you? You try to stand up but instead all you feel is a sharp pain in your side. You hear the person outside sigh and start rustling around.  
“Kinda hoped they’d be awake by now… They’ve basically been free-loading for months.” They laughed quietly to themselves, it sounded... Sad? As though they were missing something. But how could they, you don’t know them, you don’t even know your name.  
Keys twist, the once locked door opened, artificial light starting to stream through the dust. You force yourself up and fearfully dart your eyes around looking for a weapon, something, ANYTHING. Falling off of the bed onto your knees in your struggle, you wince in the waves of torment that wash over you.  
Too late. They stand, silhouetted by the light: rain dripping off of them. Eyes wide, strikingly familiar. Seeming to be both shocked and overjoyed in equal measures. That quickly turned to fear when they saw what you had been slow to notice. Red, staining your shirt. Spreading and blossoming into beautifully intricate patterns.  
“Aah...” Your voice cracks, it’s been so long since you had to employ its usage. 

Closing your eyes and wincing, all you can do is hope that this familiar stranger is to be trusted.

PT 2:

Strong gentle hands reach towards you. “Hey… I know it hurts but just grab on so I can set you back up on the bed” Opening your eyes a sliver, you can see the stranger. Their face is now a mask. No glimpse of the person you saw earlier remaining.  
You try to unfold, gasping for breath, and let yourself be helped onto the edge of the cramped bed. The stranger, reaches to their back pocket and pulls out a silver, well loved, knife. Your eyes flood with fear and you whimper, rushing to move away.  
This causes their mask to shatter for a minute, you can see the confusion in their eyes but in a split second, it’s gone. Their features are once again submerged with clouds. “Hold still. Or else it’ll hurt even worse,” they mutter. Angrily it seems but no matter how hard you try you can’t stop shaking.  
Maybe it’s fear, maybe the blood loss, Maybe the pain? You don’t know. The stranger grabs the bottom of your shirt and starts cutting it off, towards your chin. Knowing they could easily keep on going and stab you seems to be enough to force yourself frozen in place.  
They get up and fully take off the cut shirt. They unwrap the bandages that have been limiting your movement and throw them aside to wash later. You glance down for the first time to see a torso covered in scars. Some lined up like soldiers, as though planned. Some vicious gashes. And one large scar directly over your heart. There is a wound which seems to wrap around your entire torso. This one is new. Fresh. And with torn stitches.  
The stranger mutters and walks off. With them gone you see the Shadows again. They are lurking in corners, away from whatever light may be coming from the rainy outdoors. Softly placing your hand on your wound you wince. Lifting away, it is red. The color seems to enrapture you, glistening and darkening as it dries. The stranger returns with a rusty metal box. They kneel in front of you release its latch. You see many different kinds of medicine, bandages, and syringes. Without realizing it, you have reached down to their face and softly placed your bloody hand on it. Something compelled you to do this, but you don’t know what.  
The stranger is caught off guard and falls backward. Their hard eyes stare into yours for answers but find none. There is nothing that you can say. But your eyes say it all, for you know nothing. “Sit still. Move and I could kill you.” the stranger regains their composure and searches through their box of medicine. Not bothering to put gloves on, they unscrew a bottle and dump some of its contents onto a rag.  
They stand up and the glint in their eyes tells you to be afraid. They move towards you.  
“Wha-?” you rasp out.  
Their hand wraps around your neck holding you in place and before you can try and run away the cloth is held tightly around your nose and face.  
“I don’t know what game you’re playing but I won’t fall for it, Ph-” They speak defensively, as though you have some kind of power over them. You try to listen but you can’t make out the words anymore. The shadows in the room seem to be moving forward. They’re grabbing at you. You are thrashing around and hear the stranger yelling in the distance. One has you by the neck. It’s hard to stay awake, the darkness seems so inviting. Everything fades and you slip away into the void.

PT 3:

Darkness is calming. There is no need to think. The feeling of feeling nothing releases you. But the pain claws you back.  
Slowly blinking open your eyes, you see sunlight streaming through the cracked blinds. The ocean of dust swirling amongst itself. Lazily floating with no urgency. You inhale deeply, and am rewarded with sharp pain to your sides.You instinctively curl up trying to protect yourself from an attack from within. After it passes though, you think you smelled a hint of.... Cinnamon? Grunting you try to prop yourself up, trying to be far more careful than the last time. The mission is a success, but a chance for the throbbing to calm is required. Leaning back against the rickety plywood header you now see the room in daylight. It is even more messy than you had thought. Loose papers all over, empty cups, plant pots knocked over, and dirt on the floor. There is a kitchenette with a counter separating it from the rest of the room. At it the stranger is cooking, they stand wearing plain loose pants however lack a shirt, revealing their crisscrossed scars. Some seem to blossom out as pale flowers blooming against the strangers dark skin. The dusty digital clock you see tells you it's 7:00 pm. However the stranger seems to be making pancakes. This small, cramped apartment lacks any formal seating and only has one door aside from the entrance, leading to a bathroom. At least you hope.   
“you can stand up you know.” the stranger mutters as they mix up batter, a loose strand of hair, which had escaped from their loose bun, hanging by their mouth . “Just be careful so you don't tear out anymore stitches you idiot.” Taking their word you slowly swing a leg out of the bed and place the pad of your foot onto the ground. It hurts but you put pressure on it anyways and lift yourself out of the bed. Wincing at the pain you start to sluggishly maneuver yourself through the piles of paper towards the kitchenette.  
By the time you have hobbled your way to the counter the stranger had already cooked up one pancake. “Eat. You haven't had a proper meal in weeks.”   
They speak kindly yet their voice tells you there is no arguing. Looking closer their face is bruised with fine flecks of dried blood splattering it, something you believe hadn’t been there when you first met. The stranger motions for you to sit at a tall single bar stool next to the tall kitchenette counter. Trying to tenderly lift yourself up to the bar stool you realize your plain white shirt had been replaced with am old ratty band tee that read “Me_t__l_ca”. The issue was not with the tee however. It was the fact it was just a tee. No matter how long said tee is, the lack of pant will always tell odd. You can feel your ears burning scarlet against your head as you attempt to keep some grace as you slip onto the barstool. Slowly, of course, to avoid flashing someone who you assume you only have just met.  
Finally seated on the stool, the stranger places a plate of food in front of you, with your stomach makes its presence known.  
The Stranger laughed, “Dig in. They probably aren’t poisoned.” You didn’t need any more encouragement and picking up the fork, you pull apart the pancakes and stuff your mouth. As you slowly chew and enjoy the sweetness you can see the stranger watching you carefully from the corner of your eye. They sigh and turn around, presumably flipping another pancake. Taking the time to slowly indulge, you realize how horribly hungry you were. For some reason, your inner voice tells you to eat slowly and not attempt to drown your pancakes in syrup. Perhaps you’ve starved yourself before. A plate is heavily set next to yours and the stranger lazily picks up their fork. As they eat the delicious food in boring monotony, you study their face and trace the constellations in their freckles.   
Both of your forks clatter to the plates at the same time and you make eye contact. Each one waiting for the other to break the tension and ask their questions first. You decide to try your luck, “Who am I?”   
This question seems to have troubled the stranger. Their brow furrows and their golden eyes cloud over. There is a long silence in which you simply just watch them think, scanning their face and taking in all the small creases and scars. They finally start to reply. “Your name is Phaethon. You were badly injured and left for dead, however I found you and have been nursing you back to health.”  
“Who are you?” you softly ask.  
After a long pause, a grin which makes you think of slow suicides and drinking to death’s door appeared on the stranger’s face. “A tool. That’s all I can be.”


End file.
